Mountain Angel Page 6

  “What’s that for?”

  “In case we get lost, we can follow it out.”

  Holt’s voice echoed against the cold rock walls. An icy draft blew against them, and Angel stepped closer to his comforting warmth. The lantern light was scarcely adequate.

  She whispered, “How long will our light last?”

  “An hour at the most. I don’t stay much longer. The fire uses up the oxygen pretty quick, and a man could go crazy down here without light.”

  Or a woman, Angel thought. She shuddered as the tunnel narrowed abruptly, squeezing them in on both sides. She resisted the claustrophobic urge to turn and run back up the shaft. She mustn’t let Holt see her so afraid.

  “You’re trembling,” he said.

  “It’s so c-cold down here.” Angel was surprised when Holt stopped and set down his lantern, wrapping an impersonal arm around her shoulders.

  “Better?” he murmured.

  “Yes.” Her voice was muffled as she turned and briefly pressed her cold face against his flannel-covered chest. She decided she could stay like this forever.

  “Good.” Holt set her back from him and lifted his pick. “We’ll start here.”

  Angel quelled her disappointment, set down her lantern, and hefted her own pick. It was surprisingly heavy, and her shoulders ached with the effort. Holt pointed out the veins of quartz running through the rock.

  “That’s a good sign. Gold is usually in the same vicinity as quartz deposits.” He swung his pick with ease and a fist-sized chunk fell at their feet.

  Following his example, Angel grunted and swung. Her first try missed completely, and her second chipped off only a tiny flake of rock. “It will take forever like this,” she cried with disappointment.

  “That’s why I’ve been down here five years, honey.” Holt chuckled as he continued working. “Did you think the gold was simply waiting down here for us to pick it up?”

  She blew loose strands of hair out of her eyes. “No. But I thought it was going to be easier than this.”

  “It’s not bad once you get used to it. A little company sure helps. Do you know any songs?”

  “Songs?” Angel stared at him in disbelief.

  “Sure. Helps the time go faster and sets a rhythm.”

  “Oh, I see. How about ‘Frere Jacques’ for starters?”

  Holt shrugged. “Anything’s fine.”

  In a tiny, wavering voice, Angel sang. She was a passable soprano, and Holt nodded approvingly as he worked. After a while he peeled off his shirt, and his bronzed muscles gleamed with sweat by the lantern light. He picked up an amazing rhythm and speed, and Angel gave up trying to match his skill and kept singing instead.

  She couldn’t help but admire the bunching and stretching of Holt’s sinewy muscles, or the bulging of his biceps as he swung the pick up high. She was so absorbed in studying Holt that she didn’t react when he hooted and yanked something shiny from the wall.

  “Pay dirt,” he crowed, showing Angel the fingernail-sized, gleaming bit of gold. “There’s bound to be more where this came from.”

  All that work for something so small? She swallowed the urge to sigh. “Our light’s getting low,” she said.

  Holt nodded with disappointment. “We can come back down later. I want to get my other pick anyway.” He picked up his shirt and both lanterns and waited for her to follow. Angel scurried to retrieve the pick she had dropped and cried out at the pain that sliced through her arms.

  “You’ll get used to it,” he promised her again. Then, whistling cheerfully, he led them up and out of the mine.

  OOUTSIDE IN THE FRESH air, Angel collapsed on the ground. Already she hated mining and everything associated with it, but she wouldn’t dare admit it to Holt. He would be only too happy to boot her off the mountain, clear back to Missouri, and claim her share of the Lucky Devil.

  Holt paused to look down at Angel and hid a triumphant grin. He’d deliberately exposed her to the hardest and most unpleasant part of mining in order to make her reconsider her plans. She hadn’t cried uncle yet. But she would.

  “Come on,” he nudged her with the tip of his boot. “There’s no time to rest. We have to get more kerosene and head back down.”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake.” Angel dragged herself to her feet and braced herself on the pick. “Isn’t that enough for one day?”

  “Do you want to save Belle Montagne or not?” Holt goaded her, and headed on back toward the cabin. Angel made a frustrated noise and started to follow him. But the pick was stuck deep in the ground and she was forced to stop and tug on it. It didn’t budge. She kicked at it and ended up leaving it.

  Glancing over his shoulder, Holt resisted the urge to laugh out loud. He didn’t want to provoke Angel’s temper any more than he already had. After all, he had to put up with her.

  Was it remotely possible this stubborn, exasperating woman was really his legal wife? He didn’t dare consider the possibility.

  Angel hurried after him, clutching her pants in place as she ran. Her hat flew off and her blond braids tumbled down, giving her the look of a dirt-smudged scarecrow.

  “I want a bath first,” Angel begged when she caught up with him outside the cabin.

  He slanted her a teasing look. “You know where the stream is.”

  “No, a real bath. With hot water and soap and everything.” Angel clasped her hands together in an eloquent plea. “If you’ll haul me in water to boil on the stove, I’ll make you dinner.”

  “You will anyway. As I said, everyone pulls their weight around here.” Holt appeared to seriously consider her request. “What’s in it for me?”

  She hesitated. His tone hinted at something a little racier than cornbread. Was it possible he was only teasing her?

  “Whatever you want,” she said breathlessly, recklessly.

  His eyes narrowed. For a long moment they stared at one another.

  “Damn your big blue eyes,” he muttered. “I’ll get you your water.”

  Angel didn’t question her good fortune but went into the cabin. There she waited while Holt hauled pail after pail of water for her to heat on the stove and dump into the wooden tub in the corner. While he trudged back and forth, she made herself useful and unpacked her bags.

  When she came across the crude wooden horse her brother Matt carved for her, her eyes misted as a flood of memories gave her pause. No matter how rough it got, no matter how hard the life here, she must endure. Getting back Belle Montagne was all that mattered. She placed the little statue on the rough-hewn mantel above the fireplace. Every time she saw it, she’d be reminded why she was here and steel her resolve not to let anything or anyone chase her away.

  WHEN THE TUB WAS filled to the brim and steaming deliciously, Angel shooed Holt out and hung old shirts over the windows so she could disrobe. She stripped and gingerly lowered herself into the hot water with a bar of lavender soap retrieved from her luggage. Gooseflesh rose on her bare arms, and she quickly soaped and rinsed her hair free of grime first.

  Angel sank down and luxuriated, letting the hot water melt away her aches and pains. She sighed with pleasure feeling clean again. Her bandages floated off and she scooped them out of the tub, examining her injured soles. They seemed much better, thanks to Holt’s doctoring efforts. She ought to thank him.

  A whisper of cold air stole across her bare shoulders. Angel sat up abruptly, sloshing water over the edge of the tub. She looked over in alarm to see a grinning Holt leaning in the doorway.

  “I’m here to collect on your offer,” he announced lazily. “Anything, I believe you said?”

  “Get out.” Angel picked up her discarded shoe from the side of the tub and threw it at him. It landed just short, and she quickly searched the floor for the other one.

  Holt slammed the door behind him. “Don’t make me mad, Angel. You don’t want to do that.”

  She glared over the edge of the tub. By strategically draping her wet hair over her breasts, she avoided total humili
ation. “You’re trying to scare me off,” she accused him. “It won’t work.”

  “Honey, I don’t want you to tremble with anything except plain, old-fashioned desire.” Holt sat on the bed and tugged off his fringed boots. He sent them spinning, one by one, to land across the room with ominous thumps.

  Angel said desperately, “I’ll be done in a minute. You can have the tub then.”

  “No, sweetheart, that isn’t the deal. You said anything. What I want more than anything right now is to join you in that tub.”

  “You’re mad.” Angel sputtered, tossing damp strands of hair out of her eyes.

  “Where’s your sense of adventure now, Angel?” he taunted her.

  “O-ooh!” She tried to reach for her clothing from the tub, but it was out of reach. Holt chuckled as he skimmed his trousers down over taut brown thighs, and Angel quickly looked away. He wasn’t wearing any long underwear, just a tiny Indian breechclout.

  She could sense Holt coming closer though she didn’t hear his stealthy footsteps. She sat frozen in the tub, her hands balled into tight, defensive fists. Her heart was pounding like a drum and her mouth was cotton-dry.

  “Scoot forward,” Holt ordered. His voice was deep and rolled like soft thunder off the cabin walls. Angel gulped, crossed her arms over her breasts, and inched forward. The hot water surged and rose as Holt settled in behind her.

  She gasped and closed her eyes as his bare legs slid under hers. The tub was barely big enough for two. Holt drew her back to sit on his thighs, and she felt his hard maleness prodding against her buttocks. The steam rose and curled around them, like a thick curtain of mist. Holt drew her back in his arms.

  “Mmm,” he said, pushing her hair aside and planting tiny kisses on her right shoulder, “you smell like a meadow full of wildflowers.”

  “You smell like a randy goat.”

  Angel smacked the water with her fist and shrieked when it sprayed in her own face instead. Holt laughed huskily and held her firmly in place against his chest.

  “Don’t be so ornery,” he whispered against her ear. “I just want to get to know my new partner a little better.”

  “The devil you do,” Angel gritted out through clenched teeth, trying to drive her elbow back into his rock-hard stomach. “I know all about men like you.”

  “Do you?” Holt mused, deflecting her elbow and then nibbling suggestively at her earlobe. “I wonder.”

  “Stop it.” Angel struggled harder to get free and only succeeded in getting wetter and more snugly ensconced in his embrace. “I don’t want this anymore.”

  “Little liar. It’s all you’ve wanted from me since you came here, and you know it.” Holt twisted her chin to one side and forced her to look into his quicksilver eyes. “You can’t deny you’re attracted to me.”

  “Oh! You are the most impossible, arrogant —”

  Holt cut off Angel’s tirade with a fierce kiss, breaching her lips with his tongue. At the same time his hand dipped beneath the water and found a nipple, teasing it to a hard, throbbing peak. Angel arched and moaned, still trying to fight the unfamiliar sensation of mingled desire and longing sweeping through her.

  Holt murmured, “You know we want each other, Angel. Why fight nature? Don’t forget, in the eyes of the law, you belong to me now.”

  Chapter Five

  ANGEL QUIVERED AS HOLT’S work-roughened hands slid slowly down her upper arms, banishing the cold and the goose pimples. She gasped when he paused at the fullness of her breasts, cupping the slick globes gently in his palms.

  “Beautiful,” he said huskily, nuzzling her neck beneath the damp waterfall of her silken hair. “Every inch of you fits so perfectly in my hands, like clay.”

  “I’m n-not a statue,” Angel stammered, and he laughed low in her ear.

  “No, you’re not. What you are is a warm, loving woman, whose husband wants to show her how beautiful she is.”

  Holt’s quiet suggestion was followed by a shift in their positions as he carefully rose and stepped out of the tub. Looking down at Angel, he extended a darkly bronzed hand, and she saw her own smaller, whiter fingers reach out and lace snugly with his a second later.

  Holt’s eyes were like warm gray flannel in the dusky light, enfolding her as she rose. He watched her frankly as she stood there, dripping with water. He shook his head when she made a move to cover herself.

  “Don’t, sweetheart. You shouldn’t be ashamed. You’re just as lovely as nature intended you to be.”

  Angel’s hands fell to her sides. Holt took a leisurely moment to study her. Her skin, creamy ivory in some places and palest gold in others, was as flawless as her heart-shaped face. Her hair, slightly darker when it was wet, fell to her waist in gleaming, golden waves. Her hips were gently flared, her waist tiny. And her breasts, perfectly proportioned, were only a part of the luscious, totally unexpected package he had received a few days ago.

  Just as eagerly, though more reserved, Angel studied him in return. Unconsciously she touched her tongue to her lips as her gaze roamed over Holt’s powerful shoulders, tapering to a broad chest and a narrow waist completely devoid of hair.

  Tentatively, she reached out to touch his skin; she found it surprisingly silky. She trailed her fingers over his collarbone and up to his strong jaw, pausing at the corner of his lips.

  He bent his head to kiss her fingers and said, “It’s completely up to you, Angel. I’ve never forced a woman before, and I don’t intend to start now. We’ll stop now if you say the word. But say no quickly, because I can’t stand much more of this — “

  His husky words halted as she laid a finger across his lips. Holt’s burning gaze asked the question; her heart gave the answer. Slowly, easily, she came to him, his skin adhering to hers like wet silk.

  For a moment they simply stood there, swaying in a mutual embrace, each hearing the pounding of their own heart and that of the other.

  Holt threaded a hand through the damp hair at the nape of Angel’s neck, tilting her head back to gaze directly into her dark blue eyes.

  “I’ve never wanted a wife,” he confessed.

  Angel heard the hesitation in his voice. “And now?” she asked.

  “Now I don’t know. Now I wonder what I’ve missed — and if I can ever make up for it.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I don’t have anything to offer you, Angel. This is no life for a woman, especially a woman like you.” She felt his fingers shaking slightly as they traced her lips. “Lord, you’re so fair and soft, so fragile — “

  “No,” Angel said, “what I am is your wife. I’m not fragile, Holt. I’m not afraid of hard work or of living here in the wilderness. And I’m not afraid of you.”

  The words hung between them, frank and heartfelt words that reflected what Angel believed with all her might. She came here out of necessity to reclaim Belle Montagne. She didn’t expect to find herself falling in love with an inscrutable, mysterious man like Holt, or wanting to be his wife in every sense of the word. But there it was now, staring her in the face; she couldn’t deny it. She didn’t want to.

  “Please,” she whispered, and her hands rose to frame Holt’s face, his midnight hair feathery soft against her skin.

  He didn’t ask what she wanted. He didn’t have to. Holt lifted her up in his arms, imprisoning her in an embrace so strong and yet achingly tender Angel could have cried.

  She clung to his neck as he carried her to the bed, and he followed her down as nimbly as a cat. She whimpered, unable to deny the sensual feelings his hard male body evoked as it slid against hers. He brushed a damp lock from her forehead and kissed her there.

  “You’re like a board, woman. Relax.” Holt trailed his tongue down to the satiny globes of her breasts, licking the beads of water from her skin, one by one. He proceeded to her quivering stomach, then lower still. She gasped and cried out when he parted the pale curls between her legs and teased her in the most intimate area of all.

  Angel bit her
knuckle. But she couldn’t stop her hips from rolling sensuously from side to side, thrusting up to meet his probing tongue. She simultaneously loved and feared what he was doing to her, and in her own confusion she felt herself beginning to respond.

  “You taste like honey,” Holt rasped.

  “Please, Holt …”

  “That’s it. Say my name. I like to hear it on your lips.”

  “Holt, please stop.”

  “No, little one. I don’t intend to stop for a long time.”

  Angel clutched the blankets beneath her as Holt took her to trembling, unbelievable heights of ecstasy. She never dreamed lovemaking was so powerful or her mind was so weak when confronted with her body’s needs.

  As she rose higher and higher, like the mountains around them, Angel stopped fighting. Instead she let the passion roll over her like thunder and keened hungrily.

  “Yes,” Holt muttered, sliding his lean frame over hers, “Yes.”

  Angel felt his maleness probing for entrance between her soft thighs. She moaned and arched her breasts against him, moving wetly over his chest. She opened her legs to him. Holt bit her neck gently as he pressed his hips into hers.

  “Oh-h!” Her startled cry of pain was cut off by his mouth sliding over hers. Angel felt him ease farther into her, and she inadvertently tightened around him.

  “Ssh, love,” Holt murmured. “Just relax.”

  Easier said than done. Still, Angel tried to let the tension flow from her rigid frame as he moved sensuously against her. He was so big, he filled her up completely, and still there was more. She couldn’t understand how her woman’s body compensated for his size, but maybe Holt did.

  “Sweet Angel,” he murmured against her cheek. The sound of her name on his lips sent a strange feeling through her. Tentatively, she moved her hands up around his neck. She could feel his muscles bunch and relax as he thrust into her. His damp hair fell over his shoulders, gleaming like black silk. His eyes were molten silver when he opened them again.

  “You see, sweetheart, it can be good between us,” he whispered hoarsely.